


there's a lot on my mind on this christmas night

by humancorn



Series: Secret Santa Gifts 2018 [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bobby's House, Castiel's trying to do what's best for the man he loves but he's going about it in the wrong way, Christmas Eve, Insecure Dean Winchester, Introspection, Jealousy, M/M, Pining, Resolved Sexual Tension, Secret Santa, UST becomes RST, somewhat mentioned depressed!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 14:42:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17246048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humancorn/pseuds/humancorn
Summary: Pining and Jealousy and Frustration, oh my!





	there's a lot on my mind on this christmas night

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Destiel Secret Santa hosted by @destielsecretsanta on tumblr.
> 
> For @scientificallyfrostedtrenchcoat <3 I hope you like it.
> 
> This turned out to be a lot sadder than I first wanted it to be so uh...my apologies for that.

There’s something about the holiday season that always makes Dean feel a little weird - a mix of sad, angry, and cheerful, maybe a little gratefulness thrown in, especially now that the apocalypse had come and gone and they’re all still here in one piece. Kind of, at least. Cas is sorting something out in heaven and Sam is still recovering from his small stint in the cage. And Dean? Dean’s hunting. Solo mostly, these days, with Sam out of the game and Cas flitting in and out of their lives faster than a hummingbird. Cas comes when Dean really needs him, sure, takes him back to whatever motel he’s staying at so he can regroup and maybe call some backup, but then he’s back off doing whatever it is that he’s doing up in heaven. And Dean can tell he’s been making a conscious effort to stay longer, to show up more, but it’s still few and far between. Garth’s tagged along a few times, but as much as Dean is grateful for the occasional company, the kid’s got more energy than Dean can handle. So Dean’s alone. He’s alone on Thanksgiving when he’s tracking down some rugaru’s and he’s alone the day after when he shuts himself in his motel room, bleeding and tired, and drinks the day away. 

 

So the days leading up to Christmas, he heads up to Washington on the trail of some werewolves that seem to be moving state-to-state. Only three or four of them from what he can tell, so it won’t be too hard on his own to take them out. He books a room in a small town two days before Christmas Eve, three hours east of the coast, but only 30 minutes to the Canadian border. It’s a small thing - just one double bed in a room so narrow that when Dean lays down, he’s pretty sure his toes will be able to touch the dresser at the foot of the bed. He tells himself that it doesn’t really matter all that much, especially when there’s no freakishly tall little brother with him. Dean doesn’t need much room to move around, and the armchair in the corner was comfy enough that he wouldn’t have to deal with the bed being too short the whole time he’s here. 

 

He’s in the middle of an all-out brawl the next time Cas shows up. The three-or-four werewolves turned out to be a rather large pack who were none too happy that Dean had just killed three of them. And now there’s no bullets left in his gun, so he goes for a silver-tipped blade he had tucked into his jeans as an afterthought. Takes out two, but they seem to keep coming straight out of the woodwork. They surround him and Dean takes a quick count of at  _ least  _ ten, with more on their way. A wolf to his left lunges, sinks it’s teeth into the meat of his thigh as another grabs his arm and  _ pulls  _ so hard Dean swears he’s gonna rip in two. There’s blood gushing from his leg, soaking through his jeans and dripping into his shoes. If he gets out of here, he’s gonna need a hell of a lot of stitches. His knife drops from his hand and he can hear it clatter across the hardwood under him and all he can think is that he’s royally  _ fucked.  _ Another wolf rips into his side and Dean thinks about Sam, thinks about never seeing him or Bobby or,  _ hell, Cas  _ and barely breathes Cas’ name before he’s there - one arm is looped around Dean’s waist to keep him from falling. The wolves that had latched onto him were mere ashes now and Cas holds his blade outstretched as a warning. 

 

They’re in Dean’s motel room before he has the chance to process what’s going on,  hordes of werewolves nowhere to be found. Cas is still holding him up. Dean lets out a long sigh of relief and goes to pat Cas’ shoulder to tell him it’s okay to let go when he looks up and catches his eye. Dean stills, his breath catches in his throat as Cas stares down at him, blade still in hand and his eyebrows knitted together in a mixture of what Dean can only identify as confusion and anger. His head is tilted slightly, in typical Castiel fashion, but there’s a deep frown seems to creep into all of his features as Dean looks up at him. They don’t move or speak for a long moment. Dean tries to piece together what’s so different about this time - what had made Cas angry  _ this time,  _ or maybe, he thinks, maybe Cas was always angry when he had to halt whatever he was doing to save Dean’s ass. Maybe Dean just hadn’t seen it until now.

 

So he coughs, makes a move to disengage himself from Cas’ arms and is met with angelic fingers refusing to let go of his coat. 

 

“Pack your things,” Cas says, voice careful and even. And Dean stares at him once more. 

 

“Pack my things?” He says, because he can’t think of anything better. 

 

“Pack your things.” Cas lets him go and settles onto the edge of the bed, watching him, waiting for Dean to move, to do  _ something.  _ Dean just stands. He stands in the middle of his motel room with the too small bed and the too narrow walls and he can feel the blood that had been steadily flowing down from the wound on his thigh begin to slow. And he packs his things. And Cas watches, hands folded into each other in his lap. 

 

**************

 

They land in Bobby’s rummage yard less than thirty minutes later. Cas’ hand doesn’t leave Dean’s shoulder until they’re inside the house, until Bobby finishes patching him up with floss and whiskey and Dean begins to wonder why Cas doesn’t just heal him. He’s here and he’s touching him and Dean can practically  _ feel  _ his grace thrumming under his fingertips, and yet he doesn’t. He just ushers Dean up the stairs, into his old room, and makes him stare at the wall until he falls asleep. He’s pissed, obviously, and Dean knows not to test righteous fury on a good day, let alone when he’s one ripped stitch away from possibly bleeding out.

 

He sleeps for a whole day, wakes up around 6 in the morning on Christmas Eve, just when Sam’s heading out for a run. Sam is beyond happy to see him. He wraps Dean up in a tight hug that almost knocks the wind out of him and smiles so goddamn wide it looks like he’s gonna split his face in two. And he hates to admit it, but he’s happy to see the kid too. When Dean had taken off all those months ago, he and Sam hadn’t been on the best terms. Dean was pissed that Sam wanted to take time off and Sam couldn’t believe Dean wanted to start hunting again only a few days after the failed apocalypse. Dean had left in a huff, without even saying goodbye to Bobby before heading out toward the east coast. 6 months passed by and Sam called him almost every week. Dean refused to answer. 2 months passed and Sam called him on Thanksgiving and Dean picked up. He didn’t talk, just let Sam voice an endless stream on consciousness into the other end of the line. When Sam hung up, Dean tried not to think about it, tried not to think about why he hadn’t been back to Bobby’s in almost a year, tried not to think about the fact that Sam had mentioned seeing Cas recently, but Dean hadn’t seen him for at least a month.  

 

Cas is still at Bobby’s when Dean heads into the living room after a quick shower. He’s sitting on the couch, enraptured with whatever’s on the tv. Has he been here the whole time? A day and a half was significantly more time than Cas had stuck around in the past couple of months and it’s kinda-sorta making Dean antsy, dread settling deep in his stomach like he’d done something wrong. Dean clears his throat and tries to look anywhere except for Cas’ face when he speaks. 

 

“I’m gonna go to the store,” He says, and he immediately feels stupid. Cas doesn’t need to know everything he’s doing. “Uh, y’know, in case you need anything.” Castiel doesn’t look at him. He doesn’t say anything either, so Dean just grabs his keys, heads out to the Impala, and promises himself that he  _ will  _ go to the store...after he hits the bar. 

 

There’s a small dive on the other side of town that’s always suited Dean’s taste more than the cleaner bars downtown. It’s settled back into a small patch of woods and there’s a back patio facing a stream that Dean likes to sit out on sometimes when he visits Bobby. He likes to look at the trees, likes to breathe, and think about what life would be like if he didn’t know what was in them. But that’s not exactly what he’s looking for tonight. He heads downtown to a bar just around the corner from an IGA (so, he rations, he can just walk to pick up the stuff they need later). The bar’s a little too new for him to feel totally comfortable, but the beer’s the same. The beer’s always the same. 

 

He sits at the bar, orders whatever from the tap, and counts the freckles on his fingers. It’s not long  _ (he knew it wouldn’t be long)  _ before a woman sidles up beside him. She’s pretty - all long blonde hair and curves - and she asks if she can buy him a drink before she puts her hand on his thigh. Delicate, filed nails and thin fingers. It’s different -  _ she’s  _ different - from what he wants, but it’s not like he can have what he wants all the time. 

 

The exchange goes how it has hundreds of times: they drink, she laughs at his jokes, invites him to dance, and they dance. Only this time, his thigh feels like...well, it feels like it had a chunk taken out of it, which was pretty accurate, all things considered. It’s searing, like a lit fire crawling down his leg. Dean wonders why it just started hurting  _ now  _ until he smells the distinct mix of ozone and sandalwood. Cas stands behind the woman whose face is now buried in Dean’s neck and Dean almost shoves her away,  _ almost.  _ But he’s frustrated. God, he’s so frustrated because sure, Cas saved his life more times than Dean can count but that doesn’t mean he gets to control what Dean does whenever he drops by. Hell, Cas isn’t even here that often, and when he is here, he doesn’t heal my goddamn wounds, apparently. He’s probably just checking up on him because he feels like he has to or y’know... Dean closes his eyes and continues to sway against the woman in his arms. She’s still pressing against him, head laying heavy on his shoulder as her hands snake their way down his hips. Cas doesn’t say anything and Dean tries to lose himself in the music. He doesn’t think about the hand that clamps down on the back of his neck a few moments later that burns a few degrees too hot to be human.

 

When Dean opens his eyes again the woman is gone and he’s standing next to the Impala. Cas is still pissed and Dean’s right there with him. 

 

“What the hell, Cas?” Dean grits through his teeth. Cas just stares off into the now pitch-dark street.

 

“You said you were going to the store.” Cas says, unmoving.

 

“I  _ was  _ going to go to the store. Just stopping off for a beer -”

 

Castiel cuts him off, “And a woman?” There’s a certain tone of judgement in his voice that Dean remembers hearing back when they’d first met. It unsettles him, a small reminder of the hurricane wrapped in human skin standing before him. “It’s Christmas Eve.” And that catches Dean off-guard for a moment. Unsettled again, in a different way, and Cas makes no move to continue his train of thought. 

 

“Yeah? And?” 

 

“Sam was asking where you’d gone. It’s been hours, you know.” Cas runs a hand through his hair in a gesture that simultaneously seems all too human and a little too stiff to  _ be  _ human. He’d probably picked that up from Sam, what with all the time they’d apparently been spending together since Dean had left. 

 

“Yeah, well, Sammy doesn’t have to worry. I’ll be on my way in a minute,” Dean sighs and makes a move to saunter off back toward the bar. Cas catches his arm, grip tighter than it probably should be considering he’d almost been ripped in two a couple days ago, “Jesus, Cas - what...what the hell, man? Let go! You’re not my damn babysitter!” 

 

Cas hums in disbelief at him and nudges  ~~ tosses ~~ him toward the car. 

 

“I have retrieved everything we needed from the store,” Castiel says and Dean is just absolutely  _ done with his shit.  _

 

“Yeah well, I haven’t, bu--” He lets out a yelp, higher pitched than he would like to admit, as his thigh starts hurting again - the flesh aching and biting in sharp stabs of pain. Dean leans against the Impala. He hears Cas’ footsteps as he approaches and he wants so badly to feel the warmth of his grace in that moment, that he swears he’d do anything. 

 

“Do you know why I haven’t healed you?” Cas still sounds absolutely livid as he fists Dean’s hair and forces their eyes to meet, “I have not healed you because I thought you needed a reminder, that I may not be there anytime you get into trouble.” The pain dulls and fades, but Dean can still feel the latent pull of the stitches in his flesh. 

 

“Don’t need your help, Cas.” Dean says, and he expects Cas to punch him. He expects Cas to flit away and not come back for months on end. He expects Cas to tell him that he’s not worth the effort - that saving him and healing him was just a burden. He does not, under any circumstances, expect Castiel, angel of the lord, to push him against the Impala and crush their lips together. There’s teeth and tongue and hell, Cas’ lips are more chapped than Dean’s used to, but it’s one damn good kiss. And one damn good kiss turns into two damn good kisses which turns into a full-on makeout session on the hood of the Impala in a dark parking lot on Christmas Eve. And suddenly, it all makes sense. Kind-of. 

 

“You almost died.” Cas says, kissing his way down Dean’s jawbone, “I almost didn’t get there in time.” 

 

“Comes with the job.” Dean breathes into Cas’ hair, “You shouldn’t be surprised.”

 

“That does not mean I have to be happy,” Cas bites a mark into his neck, “about it.” 

 

Dean pulls Cas’ head up once more and kisses him, long and slow, and wonders vaguely how long he’s wanted to do this. Two years? Maybe three? He lost count after a while. 

 

Cas pulls away for a moment, “You avoiding Robert and Samuel did not help. I could not  _ do  _ anything without checking up on you. And then, after all of that, I saw you with that woman,” He punctuates the sentence with a rough grab at Dean’s hair, “I wanted to scream. You make me feel...irrational. Screaming has no purpose in this context, and yet, that is what I wanted to do.”

 

“Jealous?” Dean grins, and Castiel grits his teeth.

 

“Frustrated,” He pauses, “and yes, the base emotion of jealousy could have had something to do with it, I suppose.”

 

There’s silence for a moment, as Dean fully processes the implications of both what was happening and what was being said. And he feels stupid.

 

“I thought you were avoiding me.” Dean says, and watches as the bartender locks the doors. Cas catches his gaze and they appear back in Bobby’s living room in the time it takes Dean to blink, “You really gotta stop doing that.” 

“I thought you may think of my near constant presence as overbearing.” 

 

“Constant?” 

 

“As much as I could be.” Cas’ voice is soft as he caresses Dean’s cheek. He leans into it, bringing up his own hand to cover Castiel’s. There’s grace flowing through him a moment later, healing the wounds and warming him through. 

 

“Neat.” Dean says, because it’s the only damn word that’s running through his brain other than ‘ _ love’  _ and he sure as hell isn’t saying that tonight, not yet, at least. Castiel smiles at him, eyes crinkling at the sides, and Dean? Dean is happy that he’s not going to be spending Christmas alone. 


End file.
